


It Still Abandons Me Not

by AlexLKerr



Series: Sammy's Inferno [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Big Brother Dean, Brotherly Love, Drama, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Gen, Hugs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Psychological Trauma, Sharing a Bed, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-05-23 21:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexLKerr/pseuds/AlexLKerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Ye Who Enter Here. Let's put it this way: Sam's adjustment period is not without dramatic flair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! So, this story is complete but I'll be releasing the chapters slightly slowly because I'm going over the chapters again rewriting/editing/polishing & whatnot.
> 
> No betas for this story, but huge huge thank you to A_Diamond. She helped me out - answered all my silly questions - about law enforcement structure & protocol. Anything you spot in this story that flouts it is me rejecting reality for the sake of the story.
> 
> And now, without further ado...

**It Still Abandons Me Not**

_"Love, which pardons no beloved from loving, took me so strongly with delight in him_

_That, as you see, it still abandons me not..."_

\- Dante Alighieri, Inferno: A New Verse Translation

When Cas vanished, Dean sighed and quietly stepped over to look at his brother. He was sleeping peacefully, his body and soul intact. The jury was still out on his mind, but one problem at a time.

Dean was still wearing the clothes he'd put on earlier. The neon red rain jacket, the green snowflake sweater, the purple hat, and his suit pants tucked into heavy-duty hiking boots. After shucking off the hat and rain jacket, he sat down on the other side of the bed, careful not to wake Sam, and began unlacing his boots. He surveyed the room, kicking one shoe off after the other, assessing whether anything could be of use to them. It's not like there'd be a pair of clean boxers lying around for Sam but what if there was and Dean hadn't looked?

There were basically just towels, really. Dean pulled the green sweater off and started unbuttoning his dress shirt. He folded both up, as they were still relatively clean, and set them on the table. Now it was time to check Sam. Dean hadn't dared to touch him before now, not fully ready to handle his brother if he woke up.

He sat on the edge of the bed and hovered over Sam, brushing his hair off his face. Sam didn't move a muscle. Dean pressed his palm against Sam's face - again, no response. Just closed eyes and slow, deep breaths. It was reassuring actually, and Dean stared at the blanket for a second. Last time he'd laid eyes on it - faded yellow starbursts sewn into the light blue blanket - he'd been grappling with the concept of Sam trapped in hell with Lucifer. Now he had Sam, and the blanket was going to be put to good use.

Dean proceeded to pull it - and the one other blanket and sheet below it - out from under Sam. At first he was gentle, still worried about waking his brother, but as he kept working he realized Sam's sleep was deep enough that he could tug the blankets pretty hard without the slightest stirring. When the blankets were all out from under him, Dean covered him up to the waist and started unbuttoning Cas's trench coat. Sam was still dead to the world as his brother got his arms out of the sleeves and finally pulled the coat off and away from him.

Dean examined the trench for a second before he threw it into the bathroom to start a pile of dirty clothes to wash. There was no way Dean wasn't going to get that coat back to Cas.

Then he did something he hadn't done in years and tucked his little brother in.

"Okay," Dean sighed as he perched on the side of the bed, wiping a hand down his mouth, "you keep sleeping. I think... I need to go check things out around here, maybe find some... thing," Dean blinked, tired. He sighed again. "Don't wake up until I get back, Sammy," he finished, lightly patting his brother on the chest before he stood up. With one last look at Sam to reassure himself, Dean left the room.

###

It was midnight, no one was around that he could see or hear, and Dean found himself in a communal kitchen area. He stood in front of the coffeemaker and stared at it while it gurgled rich, black fuel. When it was done, he took a few sips and felt the warmth stream through him, followed quickly by a blessed caffeine kick signaling systems coming back online in his mind. It occurred to him if there was a communal kitchen, maybe there was a communal laundry room for backpackers... meaning clothes he could, uh, "borrow."

Just as he was about to keep exploring, mug in hand, the sound of a heavy door jamming then opening nearby caught him like a deer in headlights. A hooded figure stomped into the kitchen, delicate hands secreting away a pack of cigarettes into the pockets of a heavy dark green parka. The figure stopped short when it saw Dean.

"Oh nice, you made coffee," the girl said, pulling the hood down and stepping up next to Dean. Early twenties, brown hair braided, and no makeup, she looked tired but friendly enough.

"Yeah," Dean hedged as she moved towards the counter and opened a cabinet to get her own mug. She gave him a double-take as she poured.

"When did you get in?" she asked casually.

"What?"

The girl finished pouring and set the coffee pot back.

"Check in. When did you check in? I haven't seen you before," she said and leaned against the counter, taking a sip of coffee.

"A... few hours ago," Dean answered, still unsure. She nodded congenially and licked her lips after another sip, eyeing him a little more closely now.

"You... a backpacker?" she asked, doubtful, as she took in his suit pants and black socks.

"No... well, sort of," he back-tracked. He honestly didn't know what to say. "My brother... he got... sick," Dean offered.

"Oh no," she murmured sincerely, "I'm sorry. What room are you in? I can bring some stuff up if you need it."

"Are... do you work here?"

"Yeah. Oh I'm sorry. I'm Connie," she said, extending her hand. Dean took it, noting her clammy palms from having just been outside.

"Dean."

"Nice to meet you. I take the nightshift. My mom owns the Lakehouse Inn."

"Ah," Dean said, his mind whirring. "So... Connie, this is going to sound a little strange but... does the Inn have any spare clothes?"

Connie gave an oddly sympathetic smirk.

"Say no more. C'mon," she said, and lead Dean through the main hallway. "Listen, um... I don't wanna be a buzzkill, but if your brother's any less than a hundred percent, you really shouldn't be hiking the trail," she said as they reached a door with a wooden plaque that read "Employees Only."

"Oh no we've definitely called it off," Dean assured her and her concerned expression switched to relieved approval.

"Good. Okay, so here," she said as she opened the door and they walked in. It was a lounge area with a couch, a desk, a minifridge and coffeemaker along the walls. The door to the closet had been removed and it held a metal filing cabinet on the right side and a mishmash of equipment and first aid supplies along the rest of the shelves. Dean spotted hot and cold packs, slings, splints, knee and ankle braces, rolls of medical tape, bottles of Betadine, emergency blankets, loads of cotton wool, and the list went on. He realized lodgings meant specifically for backpackers of the most treacherous hike of the Appalachian trail kind of _had_ to have their own hunters-grade first aid supplies. On the very top shelf of the closet there were brown shipping boxes and Connie pointed to them.

"Backup merchandise," she said.

"Ah, awesome," Dean sighed with relief. Connie smiled, set her coffee down on the desk, and picked up a small stool as she walked to the closet. "We sell sweat pants, sweaters, and shirts."

"All three would be great."

Connie turned where she stood on her stool, shooting Dean the most genuinely solicitous expression he'd seen in awhile.

"Aw, poor guy," she murmured.

"You have no idea," Dean whispered back dully as she turned back around.

"What size?"

"Extra large, I think," Dean murmured, coming up behind her to help get the boxes down. He pulled a pair of sweatpants and flipped them out. They were navy, with a small stitched logo of the Inn on the left thigh, and when Dean placed them against himself and noticed they were a few inches past his feet, he grinned. "These are perfect."

"Excellent. Take 'em," she said as Dean leaned over the other two boxes, finding an extra large white t-shirt and light gray sweatshirt. "I'll charge it to your room, yeah?"

"That'd be great," Dean said as he took a second pair of pants for himself. He gestured them to her and she nodded, taking note he was to be charged for two pairs and not one. He folded them over his arm and picked his coffee back up, ready to go.

"Oh hey - what about meds?" Connie asked, surveying the first aid supplies. "We got pepto-bismal and some generic antidiarrheals..." she trailed off. Dean chuckled quietly, realizing she'd been assuming Sam had crapped his pants.

"Nah we've got meds with our stuff."

Connie stood up to look at him.

"Okay. Well still. Anything you need, I'll be here all night," she offered.

"Great. Thanks Connie," Dean said honestly, then headed back upstairs.

Sam was still practically comatose. Dean set his coffee down, ripped the tags off the sweatpants, and got into his before manhandling Sam around to get him clothed too. He considered putting the t-shirt on Sam but he figured it could wait. It was warm in the room and tomorrow he'd go out in the morning to pick up some more clothes for them; a rental car too.

Dean settled himself on the bed, crossed legs and folded arms, and closed his eyes. The image of Sam pinned and spread on that blue spongy pad burned into him and immediately Dean had to open them again. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes fixed determinedly on his sleeping brother, willing himself to replace the image behind his eyelids with this one.

Still, there was no way he'd be able to sleep tonight. Dean turned the TV on and lowered the volume, opened Solitaire on his phone, and lightly pulled his brother's wrist to lie across his waist so he could keep his fingers on his pulse.

It was about an hour later that Dean heard his brother whimpering and glanced over to see tears on his face, contorted in pain although still asleep. He started to move - small reflexes of fear cut short as fast as they began, like something was stopping his every attempt to defend himself or get away.

It wasn't like Dean was happy to see his brother crying and writhing around under the throes of a nightmare, but it gave him the excuse he needed to lift Sam up for a second so he could get behind him and lean against the head board. It took some maneuvering, specifically with getting the pillows against his back right, but eventually he got settled.

Sam twitched and shivered against him. His wrists flicked and Dean held them steady against Sam's chest. Sam's legs kicked and Dean lightly wrapped his around Sam's.

"Shhh, it's okay, it's okay," Dean whispered as he reached his arm across Sam's chest, trying to suppress his brother's torso twisting and turning. Sam gave a pitched whine of distress over Dean's restraints but Dean continued to shush and speak gently, running a hand through Sam's hair like he always had when they'd been young.

After a few minutes, Sam calmed. Dean pulled the covers over them both, making sure not to cover Sam's head lying against him. He sighed and relaxed his grip around Sam's chest under the covers, his arms lying on Sam just for the sake of casual comfort now.

For the rest of the night, any time Sam made a sound and every time Dean saw that image, he'd tighten his hold around him to make them both drift back into peaceful sleep.

###

Dean woke to the sound of his little brother's aborted gasp practically in his ear, then a whirl of panicked motion and noise to get away and out of his arms.

"Sam-"

"Get away!" Sam hissed, then his elbow came out of nowhere to clock Dean's jaw, snapping Dean's head back to ram against the headboard. Dean grunted in pain, dizzy, and he heard the muffled thump of Sam falling to the floor, still wrapped in the blue and yellow starburst blanket.

"What have I done..." Sam whispered, his voice trembling as he slid on the floor into a corner, shaky heads covering his head. "Oh my God..."

"Sam-" Dean slipped out of bed to the floor.

"-don't talk to me," Sam interrupted viciously, eyes burning.

Dean stared at his brother.

"Uh...okay?" Dean replied, at a loss. Dean had to admit he was somewhat relieved Sam was so responsive. His relief shattered at Sam's next words.

" _Lucifer_!" Sam shouted, loud enough to be heard through the entire Inn.

"Jesus, Sam-!"

" _Lucifer!"_ Sam continued, ignoring Dean until he was practically on top of him, doing his best to shut his brother up. " _NO!"_ Sam yelled in distress as Dean got his hands on him.

"Sam," Dean struggled, trying to pin Sam to the floor, "stop it!"

Sam yelled with frustration and fury as Dean got his knee on Sam's back so he laid prone on the floor, the side of Sam's face pressed against the carpet by Dean's hand.

" _Lucife-AH!"_ Sam yelled just as Dean stuffed some of the starburst blanket into Sam's mouth.

"Uh," Dean groaned, holding Sam down tight but stable, "I'm so sorry, Sammy," he muttered. Dean waited, trying to be as gentle as possible while still keeping Sam efficiently restrained. Sam screamed through the cloth and bucked under him, and Dean was inwardly impressed by his tenacity until a soft knock rapped on their door.

"Shit," Dean whispered, and Sam exploded with new energy, guttural howls and yells through the blanket in his mouth, his body contorting in every way possible. Dean gritted his teeth and laid into Sam harder, pushing him flush against the floor.

"Dean-?" a hesitant voice came through from the other side of the door. Connie.

"Hey I- I can't get to the door right now, Connie," Dean said breathlessly.

"Okay. Is everything okay? We got a call to the front desk-"

"Everything's fine!" Dean replied, his voice strained with the effort of keeping Sam down. Dean bent down to look at Sam and confirm for himself. The sight of his brother caught him off guard: red-faced and sweaty with exertion, Sam's terrified, grief-stricken eyes were breaking tears that were falling onto the carpet and Dean registered Sam's screams were interspersed by heaving sobs.

Dean's hold on his brother weakened, and then everything went to hell.

With one quick-as-lightning torso twist from Sam, Dean's knee slipped to the floor and Sam used his body to shove Dean off him. Before Dean could react, Sam swung the back of his hand around to slam straight into Dean's ear, forcing his head to hit the wall, and slump to the floor, his ears ringing in his head.

"Sammy," Dean murmured dazedly, watching Sam disentangle himself from the blanket and stumble towards the door Connie stood behind. "No..."

Wearing nothing but his sweatpants, Sam whipped the door open. Dean could barely hear Connie's surprised, "oh my God!" at the sight of him before he took off in the other direction.


	2. Chapter 2

For a moment, time stopped and nothing moved. Then Connie ran into the room. Her eyes widened when she spotted Dean. She slid down to him, talking a mile a minute.

"Dean? Dean! Are you okay? What happened? Was that your brother? What's going on-"

Dean swallowed and blinked, trying to clear his head.

"I'm fine," Dean said roughly, clambering to his knees. Connie helped, grabbing his elbows and steadying him as he stood all the way up. "He just shoved me," he lied.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's…" Dean searched for a valid excuse, "delirious," he said finally, giving one last shake of his head to clear the cobwebs. It didn't stop the ringing in his ear. "C'mon we gotta find him."

"What…," Connie breathed, confused, as she followed Dean booking it downstairs. "That doesn't even make sense. Even if he _is_ delirious with fever, combined with diarrhea, he shouldn't even be able move, much less run like tha-"

"-how do you know?" Dean challenged.

"I'm pre-med! Also common sense," she replied helplessly just as they hit the landing. A few steps more and they reached the warmly lit lobby. The Inn's front door was wide open, letting the chill in.

"Shit," Dean heard Connie whisper behind him.

Dawn was only just breaking outside, rendering everything in shades of dark gray and blue hues. Dean jogged onto the front porch and accidentally stepped his bare foot into a puddle made by a dip in the wood. Ignoring it, he scanned the wet streets and sidewalks for Sam.

Nothing.

"Sam! _Sam!"_ he called, but there was no answer. He shivered under a gust of cold mountain air, still only wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt he'd bought earlier. Sam was worse off though without even a t-shirt. "Sammy..." he whispered, hoping against hope his little brother would appear.

"I'm calling the police," Connie said and suddenly Dean realized she'd come up to stand next to him. Fluid in the ear Sam had smacked started trickling out and he wiped it away, careful to make sure she didn't see.

"No-" he started, but she'd already walked inside. Dean followed her quickly. "Connie, no. Don't call-"

"Dean. Your brother is sick, disoriented, and running around Monson in nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The police will help-"

"-I can find him first," Dean tried, his conviction dead steady. The ringing in his ears were a bitch though. Connie raised an eyebrow as she walked behind the front desk. "Don't call them," Dean insisted, doing his best impression of his brother, "Please."

Connie looked at him and softened, clearly sympathetic, and Dean knew he had her. She sighed regretfully, like she was going against her best judgment, and it sounded like surrender. _I still got it_ , Dean thought smugly, until…

"Have you ever heard of Duty of Care, Dean?"

Dean just stared at her.

"I'm required by law. If anything happens to your brother, this Inn could be culpable-"

"Jesus, what are you, pre-law too?!" He swiveled around, pissed, and nearly ran into someone half a foot shorter than him. College-aged, earnest-looking kid in pajamas who gave a start too.

"Hey, whoa…" he put his hands up, "what's going on?" he asked. Dean's eyes darted back to see Connie picking up the phone and dialing. The kid walked around Dean and leaned against the desk towards her. "Connie, what's up?"

"One second, Max," she whispered, raising her finger up to him. She locked eyes with Dean's, and Dean begrudgingly gave her respect for not withering under the contemptuous look he had going. Quite the opposite actually.

"Dean, you wanna stay here to talk to them about your brother."

Dean snorted.

"Like hell I do," he said lowly.

Livid, he turned on his heels and ran back upstairs. There were a few things he had to do before he went out to search for his brother.

Getting back, Dean hit the bathroom door open harder than necessary. He wet a towel and cleared the pinkish liquid sloshing around his ear away with irritated swipes. It looked worse than it felt... and the bruising along his jaw wasn't even a consideration; it just blended with Dean's five o'clock shadow.

When he was done, he laced up his hiking boots and threw the green snowflake sweater on along with the red-orange rain jacket. He was about to get going when he stopped and thought of his brother wandering around undressed. He moved into the bathroom again and upended the trash can before pulling the plastic bag lining it out. He threw Sam's t-shirt and both their sweatshirts into it before taking off down the stairs.

Dean ignored the voices around him - more people had filtered into the lobby and kitchen areas, early-rising backpackers waking up for the day and asking about the commotion no doubt. Whether anyone was calling to him or not, he couldn't tell and didn't care as he made a beeline for the Employee's Only lounge where the first aid supplies were stored. He burst into the room with single-minded purpose, vaguely noting the woman inside the room who stood up immediately, indignant. He brushed past her easily and started stocking up on hot packs and the emergency heat blanket.

" _Dean!_ " someone suddenly yelled right beside him, snapping him out of it. He turned and found himself glaring into the woman's eyes. She looked like an older version of Connie; Connie's mom, then.

"You with me?" she said harshly and Dean's eyes narrowed, "good. You either go out there - one man, alone, searching for your brother - or you get out there and talk to dispatch on the phone. Our police forces and search and rescue are _for_ this kind of situation, Dean. The more they know, the higher the odds your brother will get found _fast_ … _and_ safe."

Dean's jaw clenched, staring daggers at her. She shuffled in place and let out an annoyed breath before trying one more time.

"I get you want to go out there now, Dean. I would too, but this is mountain terrain. If your brother went the wrong way, just you's not gonna cut it."

Dean nearly snarled at her final words but her logic was getting through to him.

"If your brother means so much to you, don't gamble on him like this. Talk to the police," she finished. She hadn't blinked once while talking to him and her tone was full of conviction that this was the right course of action.

She reminded Dean of Ellen.

Dean broke eye contact and looked down. All at once, his adrenaline drained; the reasoning this woman offered was breaking past his desperation to get his brother. Dean sighed in capitulation.

"You're Connie's mom," he said, reluctantly extending his hand.

"Sharon," she replied stoically, taking his hand.

"She filled you in," Dean said.

"Yeah," she confirmed, turning back to the desk to pick up a clipboard, "c'mon," she said as she ushered him out of the lounge. Dean followed behind her, keeping hold of the plastic bag of supplies. Sharon glanced at it as they walked through to the lobby.

"Free of charge," she said wryly, gesturing to it. Dean made a face as they walked into the lobby, which was now thankfully empty.

"Got him," Sharon called to her daughter, "are you…" she trailed off and tilted her head as Connie turned to face them behind the desk.

"I'm off the phone," she shrugged, "I got off the phone after telling them everything I knew-"

"We should call them again now that Dean's here to-"

"-a deputy was really close by when I called. He should be here in like two seconds apparently."

"Okay great," Sharon replied, and both mother and daughter turned to look at Dean expectantly.

Dean stood before them, his lips pursed and his frustration building. He didn't want to wait. Not even for two seconds.

Awkward silence prevailed. Then Connie got this look that clearly indicated she was forming a question.

"Dean-"

"-ah," Dean interrupted, seeing blue and white flashing lights appear outside, "deputy's here," he said, and it was a peculiar sensation to be relieved by such a statement. _Guess there_ _'s a first time for everything_ , Dean thought. They watched as the deputy turned the lights and engine off and made his way up the front with heavy footsteps. He looked tall, about mid-thirties, and overall had a clean-cut look about him. Dean took in the bags beneath his eyes and the crumpled uniform as he approached the front desk and quickly deduced he'd been on the whole night.

"Hi," he said, "we got a call about a missing person?" he asked, clear and alert and getting straight to the point. Dean appreciated it.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, and the deputy turned to look at him.

"Are you the man's brother, sir?"

"Yeah," Dean and Connie said at the same time.

"I was the one who called," Connie added.

"And I'm the owner of this Inn," Sharon chimed in, then tipped her head to Connie, "and her mother."

"Okay, good," the deputy replied patiently, then angled towards Dean.

"I'm going to need to talk to you more about your brother, Dean, all right?"

Dean swallowed and nodded.

"'Course," Dean said hoarsely, then looked uncertainly at Sharon and Connie.

"Please step over here, sir," the deputy said, and Dean couldn't tell whether the guy had picked up on Dean's discomfort or if it was just policy but he was grateful to be out of earshot.

"All right, sir, what's your brother's last name?"

"Same as mine - Wilson, Sam Wilson," Dean supplied, suddenly remembering with unfathomable relief he'd opted to use one of the last of Devereaux's emergency identities for them when he'd checked in earlier tonight.

"Good, late-twenties, early-thirties-"

"Thirty-two."

"Good, okay. And he left, on foot, the premises about fifteen minutes ago?"

Dean nodded.

"Anyone see what direction he was headed?"

"No."

"Do you know where he might be going?"

"No idea," Dean shook his head, "he's disoriented."

The deputy nodded and murmured 'okay' under his breath.

"Physical description. Tall-"

"Six four," Dean interrupted and the deputy nodded again, eyes intent on Dean.

"-wearing only a pair of sweat pants? No shirt, shoes?"

Dean shook his head.

"Nothing else? No weapons on him?"

"No," Dean blurted, irked.

"Just covering all the bases, sir. Is your brother under the influence of any drugs?"

"No-"

"Alcohol?"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head harder. He wiped his mouth, getting jittery.

"Okay, sir, stay with me. He's sick, as I understand it - you said disoriented?"

"Yeah-" Dean swallowed, trying to figure out how to put it, "he's sick but…" he looked into the deputy's searching eyes, "he's been through some stuff too," Dean hedged.

The deputy nodded.

"Does Sam have a psychological disorder?"

Dean winced and licked his lips.

"He's been through some trauma. Recently."

The deputy looked at Dean appraisingly.

"Past military service?" the deputy said but it wasn't really a question. Dean kept eye contact.

"Yes," he replied.

"You too?"

"Yes."

"So you're familiar with what he's going through? Can you explain it to me?"

"It's like… an episode. Flashback," Dean struggled.

"Okay. How's his reaction to police - when we find him?" the deputy asked calmly, and Dean actually felt better the deputy had said 'when' and not 'if.'

"He's not dangerous," Dean replied evenly, "but he'll defend himself if he's threatened and his judgment's a little off right now, you know," Dean trailed off, looking at the deputy with doubt but the deputy remained open… with the slightest hint of compassion even, and it struck Dean that this guy, while maybe not military, had some kind of understanding. "I can… I know how to calm him down."

The deputy scrutinized him a split-second more before nodding.

"Okay, good, hold on, Dean."

The deputy took a step back and turned to the side to speak into the radio attached to his shoulder.

"Dispatch, update. Missing subject; Sam Wilson; white male; early thirties; six-four; wearing sweat pants - no shirt, no shoes; veteran suffering traumatic stress episode; approach with caution. Left the Lake Shore House Inn on foot fifteen minutes ago. May need emergency rescue."

Dean heard the scratch of dispatch confirming the update as the deputy turned back around to face him.

"We'll get him back to you," the deputy said, a note of honor in his tone that hadn't been there before. Dean inwardly took back all the shit he'd ever given law enforcement... until the deputy added, "stay here, by the phone, we'll call you when-"

"Wait what?"

"-we find him and-"

"No!"

"-call you-"

"Stop," Dean insisted, furious, feeling betrayed. "I'm going with you," Dean stated. The deputy pursed his lips.

"He's my little brother, man. I-I know him - I _live_ with him - I know how to calm him down. I am the _best_ odds you've got that _when_ you find him, he'll cooperate. As long as I'm there," _nothing bad is going to happen to you_ , Dean's mind filled in and it shook him, remembering that. His eyes pricked and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

The deputy had been listening, his jaw clenched, obviously weighing the pros and cons during Dean's speech. At Dean's expression towards the end, the deputy sighed with calm affirmation.

"Okay, c'mon. Let's go get your brother," he said simply, and gestured for Dean to go first.

Dean wiped his eyes and nodded. _I still got it?_ he pondered to himself as he stepped forward.

As they reached the front door, Dean heard a shout.

"Hey!" Sharon called. The deputy and him both turned around. "You bring your brother back safe. We'll save him a breakfast plate."

Dean smiled and gave a halfhearted wave as they trudged back to the car.

Dean reached for the passenger side door handle of the deputy's car.

"Ah ah," the deputy said from behind him. "Back seat."

Dean snorted and got into the back seat, uncaring. The deputy settled in his and started the engine.

"By the way, I'm Tyler," he said, twisting around to look at Dean and extending a hand. Dean took it.

"Okay Tyler," Dean replied, not asking whether it was his first or last name. _Who the hell cared?_

Tyler smiled knowingly, they broke the shake quickly, and the deputy moved the car out of the parking space and onto the wet gray street.

The sun had risen but the sky was still overcast, the storm from last night refusing to relinquish its last hold over the skies.


	3. Chapter 3

            Deputy Cynthia Williams had been directed to Monson by dispatch about fifteen minutes ago. She’d rubbed her eyes clear and headed south, thinking about the lost veteran, in distress, running around wearing only sweatpants. It was around fifty degrees out, windy and wet; the faster they found this poor guy, the better. She took note of his description: he’d tower over her at six foot four and, depending on his speed, he’d be on the north side of town - where she was headed - quickly. That is, if he didn’t go south, west, east, or any direction far enough that’d take him into the wilderness. At that point they’d definitely have to bring in search and rescue.

            Cynthia was still considering the odds and calling it a bust when she actually spotted him, popping out from between two houses about a hundred yards ahead of her.

            "Holy shi-" she muttered, surprised, as she put her feet on the brake and pulled over to report to dispatch. As she spoke over the radio, she watched him stumble a few times as he hurtled down the pebble-stone driveway until he got to the middle of the street. From there, he started jogging unsteadily in her direction, following the median to only God knew where.

            The dispatcher responded, giving her the order to stand by in the area. Cynthia considered intervening just to get him out of the street but the street was dead of traffic at this time of the morning so there was very little danger… and the last thing she wanted was to prompt him to run if she appeared and startled him.

            Still, Cynthia watched, torn, when the man came close enough for her to really make him out.

            "Distress" didn't really cut it; this guy was breaking down even as he put one foot in front of the other. His face - his whole posture - was the picture of raw despair; inarticulate, anguished noises and cries renting the otherwise quiet pre-dawn air of Monson... and Cynthia wanted to disobey orders and get out, if only to try to calm him down.

            A dog barked nearby and she turned to see the house just ahead of the one she'd parked across. It had a chain-link fence with a "Beware of Dog" sign. The Golden Retriever was up on his hind legs at the front of the gate, releasing deep woofs in the man's - Sam's - direction.

            Cynthia looked over to see Sam’s reaction just as he switched gears and began walking towards the canine. She cringed and took a deep breath before radioing dispatch to let them know she was getting out of the car to trail Sam to the residence. She couldn't see what was going on and if he trespassed or posed a threat to the dog, she needed to be there.

            Sam slowed as he approached the animal and stood for a moment before lifting his hand palm up to the fence so the dog could sniff him. Cynthia casually stepped out onto the sidewalk from between the row of parked cars on the street. Sam's undivided attention was on the dog anyway.

            She watched the dog sniff his hand then after a few moments give it a tentative lick. Sam opened the latch on the gate gently and took two steps inside before collapsing against it, closing it, and letting the dog practically clobber him with excitement and interest, his rump and tail wagging, giving few soft giddy yips.

            Cynthia stepped closer, cautious, and listened carefully to the man's desolate words as he spoke to the dog as it burrowed into him for more pets and rubs.

            "I couldn't take it... I couldn't take it anymore..." Sam cried. "He was there, Bones."

            Cynthia saw the man shudder and realized he must be frigid by now. Brow furrowed, she risked stepping back to the trunk of her car to retrieve one of the heavy gray wool blankets they typically used for victims of shock or exposure. If he wasn’t suffering from the latter yet, he would be soon seeing as how he’d decided to sit down on the cold, muddy ground.

            Just as she stepped back up to the sidewalk, she heard a loud gruff, "hey!" emanating from the front door of the dog's house, “what the hell-?”

            Cynthia spotted the owner - an elderly man in his pajamas and robe - stepping down the stairs angrily, clearly offended by the sight of a shirtless, barefoot man cuddling his dog in his front yard.

            "Sir! Sir, it's all right. Please step back. Stop," Cynthia shouted, her affected hard voice as a cop coming out loud and clear and stopping the older man in his tracks.

            "Wha-" the owner bent lower to take a better look at Sam, and the outrage drained from his face.

            "Hey... is he okay?" he asked solicitously, wrapping his robe tighter around his body. He didn't make any move to get closer, but it was clear he was no longer concerned for his dog.

            "His brother's on his way to pick him up," Cynthia replied, “what’s your name, sir?”

            “Hadley… Arthur Hadley,” the man said, his voice gravelly in old age but his tone gentle as he observed the man interact with his dog. Cynthia supposed it didn’t take much to figure out this guy had a few screws loose.

            “Mr. Hadley, do you mind waiting?” she asked, this time more casual. The man nodded and waved his approval and she returned the gesture. He wrapped his robe around him one more time before taking a seat on the stairs of his front porch to monitor things. Cynthia inched her way closer to the fence near Sam with the blanket. Her brows raised with surprise to see the dog climb all the way into Sam's lap and settle there. Sam folded over the canine and continued his devastated mutterings as he stroked its back.

            "She's a therapy dog," the owner offered, pride and sympathy mingling in his tone. Cynthia smiled kindly and nodded. She stepped up to the fence right behind Sam and flipped the blanket out, then held her breath as she threw it over and let it fall to cover Sam's back. Sam tensed for a second but otherwise gave no sign of care or awareness. Cynthia sighed, looked at the owner, and shrugged. She opened her mouth to assure the man it'd be any minute now that he'd get his dog back when Tyler's vehicle turned the corner and slowed to double-park next to hers'.

 

—-

 

            Dean would barely have any teeth left to grind at the rate he was going. His lips were bit raw and it was anyone's guess whether his shakes were from the coffee he'd been chugging since midnight or sheer desperation. Either way, they were a small price to pay given his currently extreme state of alert.

            Dean was in the car with Tyler for all but two minutes before he put the pieces together with what Sam was thinking. Sam thought he'd actually said yes to Lucifer in Dean's form and Lucifer was now keeping him in a false reality like Gadreel had done.  It definitely explained the house-shattering shouts for Lucifer when he'd woken up. Dean had been so shocked to hear Sam actually calling _for_ Lucifer that he hadn't been able to make the connection at the time... and then one disaster had led to another, leaving him witlessly scared for his brother until he'd gotten into the car.

            So with Sam's impression of reality... or lack thereof... established and understood, Dean spent his time trying to figure out how to break him out of it while keeping his eyes wide open and glued to their surroundings. After fifteen minutes of wracking his brain and refusing to blink, Dean didn't even care he'd failed to come up with a way to crack Sam's delusion when the sighting of his brother came in through dispatch.

            "Cynthia found him," Tyler murmured, voice low, and Dean was pleased to hear satisfaction in the deputy's voice. Dean’s own adrenaline had punched up over the words too.

            “Cynthia?”

            “Deputy a county over,” Tyler explained as he flicked the turn signal with pizazz, palmed the wheel to make a U-turn and deftly accelerated out of it.

            Dean could’ve kissed him.

            Less than five minutes later, Tyler turned onto the street and Dean spotted a woman - Cynthia, he assumed -wearing a deputy's uniform standing on the sidewalk facing a house.

            "Right there right there," Dean murmured hurriedly.

            "I know," Tyler reassured calmly, not bothered by Dean stating the obvious. He pulled up to Cynthia's vehicle and double-parked next to it. Dean jumped out of the passenger seat and started weaving his way past the cars.

            "Hey!" he called, surprised he sounded so casual. Cynthia was already looking at him though from where she stood on the sidewalk. She raised her hand in greeting, then pointed low and into the yard past where Dean could see above the cars. Dean made a face and reached the sidewalk to follow her gesture and stopped short.

            Sam was curled over a dog on muddy ground in a gated front yard. Someone had draped a blanket over him - probably the deputy - but even so, Sam was clearly either breathing hard or crying by the way his back shook and quivered under it. Dean took note of the robed man sitting on the front stairs, watching from a safe distance.

            "Sir, is this your brother?" Cynthia asked, looking on.

            "Yes," Dean said firmly, but swallowed nervously, then looked up at the elderly man on the stairs.

            "You that boy's brother?"

            "Yeah," Dean and Cynthia said at the same time. The man nodded and gestured. "C'mon. Boy needs help."

            Dean didn't have to be told twice.

            Sam was leaning against the gate and Dean didn't want to jar him by opening it. He jumped the fence a couple feet away and approached his brother, eventually lowering down to his knees. The ground was soft and wet from the thunderstorm the night prior, and Dean felt a chill as the muddy groundwater seeped through his sweatpants. He could only imagine what a mess Sam's sweats were in, as he was sitting flush against the ground, cross-legged and hunched over that poor dog.

            Dean took a deep breath and edged closer.

            "Sammy," he whispered on a sigh, reaching out but not touching him just yet. Sam flinched and Dean could hear him crying softly now into the dog's fur.

            "I couldn't... I couldn't hold on," Sam breathed.

            Dean inched forward on his knees, tilting his head to see under the blanket and past Sam's hair.

            "I said yes-I said yes-I said yes," Sam repeated under his breath over and over again, the words laden with hopelessness and grief.

            "You said yes to _me_ , Sam," Dean hissed quietly, "to me and Castiel, _not_ to Lucifer, do you understand me?"

            "No," Sam dragged the word out into a moan before choking on it, "no..." he repeated, shaking his head against the dog. Dean winced and figured he'd try another tack. He sidled up right in front of Sam and leaned in.

            "What's with the dog, Sam, huh?" he asked gently, reaching out slow as molasses until his fingertips passed over the dog's head.

            "Bones," Sam whispered.

            "It's not Bones, Sammy," Dean said, then turned to the owner. He pointed to the dog and mouthed _what's the dog's name_?

            "Marnie," he answered softly, knowingly. Dean nodded and turned back to his brother.

            "Sam... this is Marnie. This is reality. And you're holding a dog named Marnie," Dean said as slowly and delicately as possible. He listened to the quiet, despondent tears and sniffs coming from Sam and knew he wasn’t getting anywhere. Sam seemed to be inconsolable and fixated on the dog in his arms.

            The eldest brother took a deep breath before he angled his body and tentatively started pushing his shoulder between Sam and the dog to separate them. Just as Sam started to realize what Dean was doing, the older brother gripped Sam's wrists to lift them off Marnie.

            "Dean _no_!" Sam screamed heartbreak as Marnie shot out of Sam's lap. For a single moment, everything was a still tableau of tragedy under dull dawn light; Sam in anguish, reaching out for the dog, and Dean trying to catch and hold his little brother as the dog’s owner observed from his steps and the two deputies from the sidewalk.

            The time-freeze ended with Sam’s terrible roar of pain and fury coming out in the form of his brother’s name. Time was trying to catch up, and it was a flurry of action that Dean couldn’t comprehend or react to beyond base instinct. It started when Sam threw an uncoordinated punch, Dean dodged it, and then Dean’s struggles to restrain his little brother around the waist and chest as he writhed and lashed out and screamed in rebellion. Dean urged him as often as possible to stop but Sam was fighting tooth and nail against him and Dean couldn’t take it much longer.

            It was the sound of Sam losing his voice but still fighting with short, sharp sobs punctuating every move that made Dean realize he’d had enough. He let go of his hold on Sam and quickly twisted around to face him. He wrapped his arms around his little brother, lifted him to kneel too, and crushed him into a hug.

            "Sam, relax, shhh," Dean yelled, pushing the back of his brother’s head against his chest. Nevertheless, he still felt Sam twisting to get out of his hold and so in one fell swoop Dean tipped Sam's balance, dropped to the ground, and pulled Sam down sideways so he had no choice but to fall into his brother's lap.

            Sam didn't even have a chance to react when Dean pulled him up against his chest and whispered into his ear.

            "You remember _this_? _Huh_? You remember _this_ , Sammy?" Dean rasped, pressing Sam harder against him at every emphasized word. Sam hiccuped a cry and Dean pushed Sam's head into the crook of his neck. "We were right here. Like this," Dean said, pulling away to look into Sam's dull, pained eyes. His face was dirty with mud and a couple blades of grass that Dean wiped off before continuing. "You thought I was Lucifer but I _wasn't_ , Sam. I wasn't. But you said no anyway. Do you remember what I said?"

            Sam's face twisted, tears burning and chin trembling.

            "You weren't gonna leave me," Sam mewled, staring up at his big brother, and Dean smiled, eyes twinkling with his own unshed tears and his crow's feet wrinkles deepening.

            "That's right," Dean confirmed softly, "I wasn't gonna leave you. So I held onto you like this, right?"

            Sam gulped and his eyes went wild as if he was watching an instant reply.

            “ _Sam_ ,” Dean snapped and his brother fixed his sights on Dean again, swallowed, and gave the slightest hint of a nod. "And then you said 'yes' to me," Dean said and Sam stared with wide eyes up at his brother, "because you knew. You knew it was me,” he finished confidently - even proudly. He licked his lips and asked the question: “How'd you know it was me, Sammy?" Dean whispered, both curious and hoping to God it was the right one to get Sam back with him.

            Sam swallowed and another tear rolled down his temple. His eyes wandered away from Dean, but they were clearly unseeing. Sam was remembering.

            "Lucifer... never took no for an answer," Sam whispered back.

            Dean’s jaw clenched and nodded, inwardly surprised by the simplicity of it. He licked his lips and tasted salt, sniffed a few times before looking back down at his brother.

            "And how do you know it's me now?"

            Sam blinked, and Dean could see the wheels turning as he held his little brother in his arms. He braced and curled over Sam further, willing himself to be his shield. As he watched Sam struggle to understand, he got his palm to slip past Sam’s hair and against his neck to help support his head. Sam unconsciously sunk into his brother’s secure, warm hold on him. 

            "Lucifer..." Sam stopped, eyes flitting up to Dean with uncertainty and Dean practically short-circuited that he recognized the expression. It was so... _Sam_. _Lucid_ Sam, and Dean was celebrating the sight of it before he even identified what it was.

            "Lucifer would never give me this much time with you," Sam said, his voice brittle and hoarse and Dean’s heart melted. "Even in a fake… thing… like this…" and then that damn look again.

            Dean nearly burst into relieved, almost disbelieving laughter when it dawned on him that the look was Sam's self-consciousness coming back on line. When he smiled, he tasted salt on his lips. He sniffed and pulled Sam up to get him into a full embrace against his chest, Sam’s head on his shoulder.

            "Sammy," he hummed, "you're such a heartbreaker," he teased, his voice wet and cracked. He felt Sam drop his head into the crook of his neck and the rest of his body following through into accepting and returning the hold Dean had on him, both giving and receiving the sense of safety and love they always got from hugs like these. It didn’t last long, however, as Dean rapidly registered how cold and clammy his brother’s skin felt. 

            "Sam, you're freezing, man," Dean murmured, pulling back, and Sam wiped his face and blinked, slightly disoriented. Dean started rubbing Sam’s arms as he glanced at the ground near them. The shock blanket Cynthia had draped over Sam had long since been tossed to the ground  to soak in the grassy mud.

            "Sorry," Sam muttered in reply and Dean’s brow furrowed; he gave a small shake of his head like that wasn’t response he wanted when a bag landed next to them. Sam startled  and gripped Dean tighter at the sight of the deputy who'd dropped it down.

            "Easy, easy," Dean said and Sam turned to focus on his brother and the bag, "hold on a sec." Dean pulled the t-shirt out of the bag while Sam scooted off his brother's legs, sniffling and wiping his face over and over again, seeking composure. He took in his surroundings with new eyes and froze at the sight of the other deputy - the man, standing on the sidewalk a few yards away. The deputy tipped his head and Sam swallowed nervously, continuing the panoramic until he stopped and paled at the sight of the dog he'd thought was Bones sitting obediently next to an old man on the front steps of his house watching him.

            "C'mon," Dean said from behind him and suddenly fabric fell over his head, surprising him, and Sam let out a yelp, reaching for it. "Sam, it's a t-shirt," Dean deadpanned as he pulled away and Sam felt it before pulling it down over himself. He turned back to Dean, eyes on the ground, growing red with shame and embarrassment. "Sweatshirt," Dean said, handing it to him. When Sam took it, Dean brushed his palm down the side of his head affectionately and as much as Sam was reluctant to admit it, the gesture stabilized him. He heard Dean rustling in front of him - Dean finishing with the bag - as he put the sweatshirt on and when he was finished he felt hands grip his elbows.

            "Three, two..." Dean said quietly and Sam pushed up at one. Off-balance, Sam stepped into Dean, reaching a hand to his shoulder, and Dean took his weight as anchor until he got it. "Nice, Sammy," Dean coached, betraying nothing, and turned to put his arm around his waist while Sam gripped along Dean's shoulders, hunched in and staring determinedly at the ground. They started moving and the deputies split up, Cynthia stepping up to the residence to speak with Arthur Hadley and Tyler keeping a respectful distance behind the brothers.

            "When're we gonna get outta here?" Sam whispered, clearly not wanting to spend a second longer... wherever they were.

            "What, you mean you don't want to stay - enjoy the local sights?" Dean asked dryly, stepping up and opening the back door to the deputy's cruiser.

            "Um," Sam said, still too out of it for a clever retort, "no." Dean chuckled and guided Sam into the back seat and closed the door before going around to the other side.

            He faced Tyler just as he was about to get into the driver's seat. Tyler stopped at Dean's expression.

            "Thank you," Dean said. "You have no idea. Thank you."

            Tyler blinked, surprised by how raw and deep Dean’s words were.

            "Just doing my job," he replied, unwittingly repeating Dean's go-to phrase as big brother.

            Dean blinked, then grinned and winked, cocky and bright for the first time since Tyler had met him, and ducked into the backseat next to Sam.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to comment/review if you can spare the time! ~ Alex


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